


No-One Sleeps When I'm Awake

by Cerberusia



Series: No-One Sleeps When I'm Awake [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Femdom, Obedience, Predicament Bondage, Psychological Bondage, Sex Toys, Vibrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She stretches out her foot to nudge the vibrator gently, and she can see the effort it takes him not to grind down. Obedience training: she's told him he can't move, so he won't.</i> Lydia and Stiles may not be in a relationship, but that doesn't stop her from having fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No-One Sleeps When I'm Awake

**Author's Note:**

> For my Kink Bingo _bondage (other)_ square. There's more coming in this 'verse, if anyone's interested :D

There's a spelling mistake in question five. What _are_ they teaching them at teacher training these days? Lydia scowls, and crosses it out to write a correction. 

There's small panting noises coming from behind her. Must be Prada. She goes on to question six, which has been made to look complicated but is actually ridiculously easy - Mr. Harris' work, no doubt. She's just writing the last equation when the panting turns into muffled thumping.

"Prada!" she snaps, and the thumping stops, but a whine starts up instead. She's a beautiful dog, not to mention very good natured, but she gets so _needy_ sometimes. Lydia sighs and pushes away from her desk, swivelling her chair to survey the room.

Prada's not there, of course - last Lydia saw, she was curled up on a cushion in the living room. Instead, Stiles is spread out on the bed, pink skin against the pink sheets, a handkerchief in his mouth and a vibrator in his ass.

"I haven't even turned it on yet," she says, and watches Stiles flush harder. He gets off on being tied up and ignored, but even more on being humiliated. Four days ago she made him confess every dirty fantasy he'd ever had about Jackson bending him over and fucking him while calling him names, making him finger himself while he talked, face and chest bright red, until he begged her to let him come. She'd wanted to take photos, but there's no hiding place safe enough, so she stared at him, his red cock and his red face and his fingers jammed up his own ass, committing him to memory.

She stretches out her foot to nudge the vibrator gently, and she can see the effort it takes him not to grind down. Obedience training: she's told him he can't move, so he won't. She finds the amount of control she has over him thoroughly satisfying - not to mention hot. She nudges it again, and he makes a small, helpless noise, cock twitching.

"Now comes the hard part," she says, getting out of her chair and kneeling on the bed and, delicately gripping the base of the vibrator, turning it on to its lowest setting.

The effect is instantaneous: Stiles lets out a loud whimper, and for a few seconds frantically bucks his hips up, trying to get more pressure - and then he stops, shaking with the effort of not moving, hips slowly coming down to rest on the bed again.

"Good boy," she says, because he needs positive reinforcement, and when she briefly pets his shoulder, although he can't lean into it, she sees some of the tension leave him.

She reaches over for her phone on the nightstand, making sure that he gets a good look down her top as she does so. She finds the timer app and sets it for five minutes.

"Now, you're going to be still and patient for five minutes, and if you're good, I'll let you come." She doesn't need to say what'll happen if he's not: she's kicked him out hard and begging before, made him promise not to jerk off until she rings him later that night so she can listen. His eyes widen, but he doesn't say anything. Excellent. She goes back to her Chemistry homework and finishes off the last two questions in the first minute. She doesn't look at him until she's completely finished, all her books and pens packed away, and when she does she finds him with his eyes closed, mouth open as he takes steady breaths. His cock is hard against his stomach, and occasionally his thighs tense as he fights the urge to squirm, but he's doing very well and she tells him so. He gives her a tiny smile, which she decides to allow - punishing restrained expressions of joy at pleasing her would be counterproductive, not to mention outright cruel.

But she does have to make it harder. So she turns the vibrator up another notch, and watches him squeeze his eyes tight shut and clench his teeth against a whimper. His cock twitches, dribbling a little precome. He's digging his fingernails into his hips. Satisfied, Lydia moves onto her English homework. Now, in a different world, they'd talk it over - Lydia's perfectly clever enough to do her homework by herself, thank you, she's had plenty of practice working out what the teachers want - but Stiles has a knack for being original and _interesting_ in essays when he's given free rein (albeit not necessarily entirely on-topic), and she wouldn't mind seeing his thought process. He can be entertaining, when he forgets who he's talking to.

As it is, Lydia taps her nails - peachy-pink, long enough to scratch but not enough to get in the way - on her desk and listens to Stiles' breathing, the tiny creaks of the bedsprings as he shifts his foot to keep it from falling asleep, or his neck to keep it from developing a crick. That's allowed, too - she doesn't want any other physical discomfort to distract him from the vibrator in his ass and the unbearable tension of wanting to _move_ , after all.

The outline takes her a little over a minute, the opening paragraph a little less. She doesn't need to look over her shoulder to know what Stiles looks like - face pink, flush spreading down to his chest, cock red and wet and the base of the vibrator peeking out from between his cheeks - but she does anyway, briefly. Stiles' eyes are open, fixed on the ceiling, and she bets he's counting the chandelier drops to distract himself.

Two more paragraphs and there's only one minute left to go. This is where the _real_ fun begins. Lydia puts her pens to the side, lines them up neatly, then kneels on the bed so she's straddling Stiles, comfortably seated on his calves. Stiles watches her with a mixture of eagerness and trepidation. He can guess what comes next.

Lydia doesn't disappoint him. She doesn't turn the vibrator up, but she does start moving it in small, circular motions against his prostate and watches his thighs tremble and his lashes flutter rapidly. His cock jerks and leaks. Relief and agony at the same time - she's gotten good at this over the past couple of months. She likes being the one in control, and Stiles doesn't bitch like Jackson did. Not that the two relationships are otherwise comparable, thank god, mainly because she and Stiles aren't _in_ a relationship. Healthier for all concerned.

Twenty seconds to go. Stiles is biting his lip. She starts to thrust the vibrator in and out, small, shallow thrusts that make Stiles' breathing quicken, make him take shallow breaths through his nose because he daren't open his mouth. He's usually so loud - this must be very difficult for him indeed. Which is, of course, why she chose it.

The timer on her phone goes off. Lydia turns the vibrator up to high and Stiles jacknifes up of the bed, gasping and moaning. He seizes his cock and comes in two strokes, almost wailing as he spatters the pink bedspread. Lydia watches his face all through his orgasm and gently reduces the power on the vibrator as he comes down, panting and damp-eyed. A couple of tears have leaked down his cheeks, and she fetches a tissue from the box on her desk to give to him. He wipes his face then his belly with shaky hands, and wrinkles his nose and dabs ineffectually at the bed until Lydia tells him to leave it, she'll deal with it. It's not a big deal - she's got used to cleaning semen out of fabric. Life skills, right? Stiles grins at her, still looking a little dazed. He's cute, she thinks, with his big doe eyes - and then promptly quashes that thought, because she'd thought Jackson was cute too and look where that ended up.

She idly presses a hand to her crotch through her skirt and panties, lightly grinding the heel of her hand against her clit, taking the edge off. She's wet, of course, but she doesn't take off her clothes when they do this - occasionally she'll take off her top to leave her in a bra, just to keep him on his toes, but he's never seen any part of her that would be covered by a bikini. Sometimes she contemplates doing a session in her underwear. Sometimes she thinks about letting him touch her, or just letting herself touch him. It could be fun. But not now. Not yet.

Stiles gets dressed slowly, hampered by the way he's staring at her hand rubbing idly between her legs. It's pretty gratifying. She could make him get hard again, if she wanted, and do it all over again - but her mother's due back in half an hour and Stiles is physically incapable of being quiet when he comes. Which is hot, but inconvenient.

Lydia rolls her neck, looking away from Stiles attempting to put his socks on without taking his eyes off her - and her gaze alights on her computer. Of _course_.

"Stiles," she says, in a perfectly ordinary tone, "do you have Skype?

Stiles jerks his head up to look at her face and says, with some confusion, "...yeah?" Then, as he gets it, with more conviction, "oh, _Skype_ , yeah, definitely."

"My username is lydiamartin3," is all she says, and that's all Stiles needs.

"lydiamartin3, yeah, absolutely," he says, nodding furiously. "I'll, uh, yeah. Soon as I get back." Not entirely coherent, but then he's mainly focussed on Lydia's fingers crawling up her skirt and slipping under the waistband of her panties. She sighs when she finally gets a finger on her clit, and Stiles squeaks. _Bless_.

"You're not doing anything tonight, are you, Stiles?" She keeps her touch light and her voice steady.

"Nope," says Stiles emphatically, eyes wide as saucers, and she smiles at him as sweetly as she can.

"See you then."


End file.
